


Finding the Fit

by FantasyFiend09



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6310234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyFiend09/pseuds/FantasyFiend09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry learns the importance of clothing that fits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding the Fit

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Dicta_contrion, this was not the story I meant to write. I chose your lovely prompt with a clear idea of all the dressing room UST I would write, but the boys refused to be so patient. *sigh*  
> Huge thanks to Gracerene for advice and edits.

'Vain trifles as they seem, clothes have, they say, more important offices than to merely keep us warm. They change our view of the world and the world's view of us.' - Virginia Woolf

* * *

Harry didn’t think he was a bad looking bloke. He certainly wasn’t disfigured, and his features seemed to hold up against the usual complaints outlined in the advertisements on the wireless. He didn’t have crooked or yellow teeth. His nose was straight, his skin was clear, and he had only the one chin. Most reliably, Ginny had assured him he was handsome, and she’d have told him he looked like a hag if she believed it.

But if he were handsome, or even average looking, then why hadn’t a single bloke in the bar approached him? 

Going out on the pull had clearly been a horrible idea. He glared over at the friend responsible for the idea in the first place. Toby was strolling beside him on the dark London road clearly lost in his own thoughts and oblivious to Harry’s misery. 

The two of them had become friends when Toby was sent by Magical Games and Sports to consult on a case of illegal performance-enhancing potions that were popular among some Quidditch players. It had been Harry’s first big Auror case, and Toby’s insight and experience had been invaluable. They had stayed close in the years since, eating lunch together or grabbing a pint after work. 

When Ron found out Toby was gay, he’d suggested that Harry ask him out. Harry had quickly pointed out that he wasn’t attracted to Toby. That, and the fact that Toby only had eyes for older men, preferably built like lumberjacks.

But as Harry’s only gay friend, it made sense for Toby to be his companion to a Muggle gay bar, where Harry could meet men unaware of his fame. It had seemed like a great idea that morning when Toby had suggested it.  And it clearly had been a good idea _for Toby_. Toby had been approached by several good-looking Muggles before disappearing with a bear of a man for so long, Harry had assumed he’d been abandoned. 

Harry hadn’t been approached once.

Objectively, he didn’t see why Toby was sought out when he wasn’t. They were of similar look and build, with dark hair, bright eyes, and lean muscle. Harry doubted that Toby’s blue eyes and tamer hair were the difference. 

Sitting alone at the bar, watching other men strike up conversations and flirt with strangers, Harry had felt ugly and unwanted. It was too much like being back with the Dursleys, and by the time Toby stumbled off the dance floor—looking sweaty and sated—Harry had been desperate to leave.

As they turned right on Charing Cross, Harry tried to think how best to frame his question. 

Toby beat him to it. 

“Why did you wear that tonight?”

Harry glanced down at his Weasley jumper and jeans in the glow of a street lamp. Why wouldn’t he? He certainly couldn’t wear robes to a Muggle bar. Besides, Toby was wearing the same thing. He said as much and watched Toby’s face morph through several expressions ranging from offence to disbelief.

“This,” Toby pointed to his own jumper, “is fitted cashmere. And these,” he grabbed the back of his jeans, “make my arse look amazing. You look like a small child wearing his Nan’s Christmas gift and hand-me-down jeans.” He looked Harry over and then raised both eyebrows to assure Harry that his words were established fact not worth debating. Harry kept his mouth shut and Toby went on.

“The only people who wear ratty jumpers and baggy jeans to a gay bar are the people so settled into committed relationships that they no longer care about their appearance. If you’re wondering why no one tried to chat you up, it’s because they assumed there was no point. Honestly, a wedding ring would have been less of a deterrent.” 

Harry wanted to argue. It hurt to be told his favourite clothes were man-repellent, but he couldn't ignore the evidence: Toby attracted men and Harry didn’t. Their clothing was one of the few significant differences between them, and it might explain Harry’s lack of luck in the wizarding world, as well. The only witches and wizards who approached Harry these days were the most brazen sort, clearly just interested in his fame. 

Swallowing his pride, Harry asked his friend for advice.

Toby assured him he knew the perfect place to “sort him out” and gestured across the road to where the battered old sign for the Leaky Cauldron was coming into view. Harry followed after him and was surprised when Toby walked past the Leaky and stopped at the next door. 

“The Silver Lining. The only place a wizard should ever buy Muggle clothing.”  He gestured toward the dark shop with the excitement of a father whose child had just made a Hogwarts Quidditch team. “The places in Diagon sell some Muggle stuff, but it’s always horribly out of date. And you can obviously go to a regular Muggle place, but then you have to do all the tailoring charms yourself, and I can never get the wizarding space right for a wand pocket. _This_ is the way to do it.”

Harry stepped forward and peered into the darkened window. In the dim light from the street he could make out a table with neat stacks of clothing and a rack of shirts beside it. It didn’t look any more threatening than Madam Malkin’s, and it might improve Harry’s currently non-existent sex life. He looked at a little sign on the door to confirm the shop was open on Saturdays and then promised himself that he would return in the morning. He told Toby as much.

Toby smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be in good hands. Draco’s brilliant.” He leered. “Quite nice to look at, too.”

_Draco?_

“Draco Malfoy? But he’s a Ministry consultant.”

Toby nodded. “Yeah. About Muggle fashion. He works with us a lot at Games and Sports when we’re trying to set up major events. We don’t want a lot of wizards in wonky clothes attracting Muggle attention.” Harry thought back to the Quidditch World Cup and had to agree that wizards could use some help with dressing like Muggles. “He works with the Aurors, too, but probably not Muggle-raised ones like you.”

Harry was rather disappointed to think that Malfoy was dressing his colleagues and not him. Malfoy _was_ rather nice to look at these days, and Harry did look. Quite often. And now he knew a way to look his fill. He smiled at the shop.

“I think I’ll be needing quite a lot of new clothes. Starting tomorrow.” Harry ignored Toby’s knowing smile and turned back to the Leaky. He had to Floo home and get some rest before his shopping trip in the morning.

* * *

The Silver Lining opened at ten. Harry arrived five minutes early and paced in front of the door until a light finally flicked on in the back of the shop.

A tall figure made its way through the shop, and Harry could tell it was Malfoy from the the lean build and easy grace. Malfoy was dressed like a Muggle in dark trousers, a collared shirt, and a navy jumper. As he neared the door, Harry admired the pale hair that Malfoy now wore short on the sides but with the soft strands on top just long enough to fall into his eyes. 

Eyes that widened slightly as they recognised Harry.  

The door jingled pleasantly as Malfoy opened it. “Potter. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Malfoy’s tone was dry, but not hostile, which was as much as Harry could hope for. 

“I’ve come to buy some clothes.”

Malfoy arched a single pale brow and then turned to look over his shoulder. He turned back to Harry with his lips quirked up on one side. “It’s funny you should say that. I, in fact, have clothes for sale.” He ran his eyes down Harry’s body. “Clothes you desperately need.”

A flash of heat ran through Harry’s body and he scolded himself to stay calm. “Now that we’ve established I’m in the right place, how about you let me in? Your sign says you’ve been open for two minutes, and I’m still stuck on the pavement.” Harry caught a glimpse of genuine amusement on Malfoy’s face before he turned to lead Harry into the shop. 

Malfoy seemed taller as he strode between the racks of clothing to where a brown leather sofa faced three fitting rooms in the corner. The area around the sofa was set up like a small sitting room with a plush rug and a wooden side table. The wall was dominated by a large oval mirror.

Harry looked at the two figures reflected in the glass. Malfoy stood with straight shoulders and spine in a jumper that hugged his body despite the collared shirt beneath. His trousers draped neatly down his long legs before creasing once above his shiny leather shoes. 

In contrast, Harry looked like a drowning boy lost to the sea of fabric that was Dudley’s old t-shirt. The image on the front was so faded and flaked that he no longer remembered what it had once depicted. Harry knew that his jeans— _Dudley’s_ jeans—were only staying up because a worn leather belt under the shirt was cinched tight enough to keep them above his slim hips. Not that an observer could tell if his hips were slim or not.

Malfoy gestured for Harry to sit on the sofa as he picked up a basket of scarves. He was all business as he placed scarf after colourful scarf around Harry’s neck and then stepped back to scrutinise Harry’s face with each one. He pulled away the baby blue one with a wrinkled nose and replaced it with a surprisingly tasteful orange one. It wasn’t the harsh orange of the Chudley Cannons. Instead, it was the colour of a perfect autumn leaf. It was as soft as the others had been and Harry found himself smiling as he thought of crisp autumn breezes and freshly-picked apples.

“You like that, don’t you?” Malfoy looked smug, but Harry was willing to admit he did. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever like an orange scarf, and that’s coming from a Cannons fan.”

Malfoy’s lips curled up as if he’d eaten something rotten. “There are many reasons _not_ to support that team. The horrible colour of their kit is actually the least of them.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. As much as he liked the Cannons, he wasn’t blind to their failings like Ron was. 

Malfoy waved his hand as if ridding them of bad Quidditch teams. “Anyway, I just wanted to get a sense of your colouring. Now we can talk about the types of clothing you need. I assume you are here for a complete wardrobe overhaul and not just a pair of jeans to wear with your collection of oversized t-shirts and home-knit jumpers.”

Harry wondered if he should be offended, as he had been with Toby the night before. But Malfoy insulting his clothing was _familiar_. It made him oddly nostalgic for boyhood days at Hogwarts. 

“Show me what _you_ think I should be wearing.”

Malfoy’s eyes lit up. “Oh. Do I have _carte blanche_? There is hope for you, yet.” He gestured for Harry to stand and then began slowly circling him like a wolf choosing the angle of his killing blow. Rather than attacking, he stopped short with a huff. “I can’t even _see_ your body through this mess. How am I meant to flatter your figure when I can’t tell what it is?” 

And then, without permission or even a word of warning, Malfoy Vanished Harry’s shirt. Harry shouted his protest as he wrapped his arms around his chest. Instead of apologising, Malfoy flicked a couple of spells at the windows and door. 

“There. No one can see or enter. Your saintly modesty is preserved,” Malfoy said in a condescending tone that would have made Snape proud. He flicked his wand yet again, and Harry’s jeans Vanished. Unrepentant little sod. 

Harry felt ridiculous standing in front of Malfoy in his boxers and socks. It wasn’t that he was usually prudish—if Hogwarts hadn’t acclimated him to dressing in front of others, the Aurors certainly would have—but it was the abrupt and unexpected nature of the situation that had his cheeks heating. That, and his fellow Gryffindors and Aurors didn’t look like Malfoy. 

And they didn’t look at _him_ like Malfoy did.

Malfoy was circling him like a wolf again, but this time the look in his eyes was a different kind of hunger. 

“Well, well, Potter. Who knew? I mean, I expect young Aurors to be in shape, but you really are fit.” He stopped and reached out his hand as if to touch Harry’s waist before pulling back again. “Look what you’ve been hiding all these years. Not a scrawny thing at all.” He looked down Harry’s legs. “Knees are still knobbly, but grown men shouldn’t wear shorts anyway.”

Harry made a mental note throw out every pair of shorts he owned. He had Cooling Charms, right?

“We can do a lot with this,” Malfoy was murmuring and then he brandished his wand again. Harry instinctively put his hand in front of his groin, and Malfoy laughed. It was a rich, clear sound free of any malice, and it sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. “I’m not going to Vanish any more clothing. In fact, I’m going to Summon some.” With a swish and flick, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt came floating over. “Here. If you want casual, _this_ is how to do it.”

Harry pulled the long sleeved t-shirt over his head, marvelling at the soft fabric that clung to his arms and chest as he adjusted it into place. A glance at the mirror showed the shirt clinging to him like a second skin, and he had to admit that it showed off his physique better than his usual clothes. He’d worked hard to put muscle on his lean frame, so why not show it off?

Malfoy looked smug as he asked for Harry’s opinion.

“It looks great _and_ feels great. I’m sold.”

Malfoy murmured something under his breath as he handed the jeans over. 

Harry stepped into the jeans and pulled them up. They were much tighter than his own, but he rather liked the pressure against his arse. Was it weird to enjoy being fondled by an inanimate object?

Zipping and buttoning the front, Harry found it odd that there was no matching pressure against his cock. Shouldn’t he feel the jeans press against him? Especially given how tight they were. He stood staring at his own crotch in confusion.

“Oh, Potter. _Please_ tell me you’ve worn charmed trousers before.” 

Harry looked up at Malfoy’s scowl. How was he still so handsome when he scowled? Maybe the sharpness of his features allowed him to pull off harsh expressions so well. Malfoy threw his hands up, and Harry tried to keep his mind on charmed jeans.

“Honestly! What’s the use of wizarding space if you still have to squeeze your dick into tight trousers?” Malfoy gestured to his own crotch, and Harry’s eyes obediently followed. “The material lies flat to give the look, but then you can hang free. Without a charm, Muggles have to chose a side and have their dick smashed against their leg. And if they get an erection…” He looked as if he couldn’t bear to continue the thought.

Harry’s mind was more than happy to continue the thought. Malfoy used charms on his trousers so his cock could hang free. Or get stiff. And no one would ever know. What was Malfoy’s cock doing at that moment? Hanging free? Filling up? He realised he was still staring at Malfoy’s crotch and pulled his eyes up to find grey ones full of mirth. 

“Yes. Mine are charmed, too. All of my trousers are.” 

Harry’s face flamed and his throat was painfully dry. He tried to swallow, but his tongue was too heavy to move. 

“I can think whatever I want and never worry about my dick giving me away.” Malfoy took a step closer to Harry, never breaking eye contact. Harry should break eye contact. He should look away. He should—his eyes fell to Malfoy’s lips just as he murmured, “I could be hard right now and you couldn’t tell.”

Oh fuck! How was Harry meant to think with Malfoy saying things like that with his perfect lips? 

“What if …” Harry stopped to lick his own lips and swallow. “What if I touch you?” His face burned hotter. “I mean, does the charm hide from feeling?”

Malfoy’s smile was as captivating as it was terrifying. “It hides from feel as well. If you want to find out if I’m hard, you have to unzip me and see.”

Harry’s mind was racing through a fog. He had so many thoughts and yet he couldn’t make a single one make sense. Was Malfoy telling Harry to open his trousers? Or was he speaking in hypotheticals? He was so close, his warm breath tickling Harry’s neck and cheek. Surely that wasn’t normal. Surely that was an invitation. Harry certainly wanted it to be one. 

Did Malfoy normally act like this with customers, undressing them in the middle of the shop and talking about his cock? Harry felt there was something unusual about Malfoy closing the whole shop for them when there were three dressing rooms he had yet to acknowledge. Dressing rooms couldn’t be out of order, could they? What was there to break?

A cool hand slid against his cheek and pulled him from his fevered thoughts. “Potter? Do you want to know?” Malfoy looked smug and delicious, and Harry’s cock was hard just from being so close to him. Of course Harry wanted to know if Malfoy was as affected as he was! He nodded, and Malfoy’s smile cracked into a feral grin. “Well, then.” The hand on Harry’s cheek dropped to Harry’s shoulder and gently pressed down.

Harry fell to his knees on the rug without question. There in front of him was Malfoy’s crotch, the crisp grey fabric of his trousers hiding Malfoy’s cock inside. With fingers that felt thick and clumsy, Harry undid the button and pulled down the zipper. Malfoy’s cock was still covered in the smooth black material of his pants, but it was clearly full and straining forwards against the fabric. 

Malfoy was hard. For Harry. A rush of relief ran through Harry as he realised how much he had wanted Malfoy to feel what he felt.

“Are you just going to stare at it?” came the impatient voice from above.

Harry looked up and met Malfoy's eyes with new confidence. Malfoy wanted this, too. 

“Is this how you treat all your customers?”

Malfoy huffed. “Yes, I always close my shop on my busiest day. That’s how I stay in business.” 

Harry smiled at the thought of Malfoy putting his desire for Harry before his profits. 

A hand ran into Harry’s hair and tugged lightly. “But I’d like to be able to open for the midday rush, so let’s move this along.”

Harry smirked as he pulled Malfoy’s trousers and pants down to his ankles, freeing his erection for Harry to see. It was exactly like every other bit of Malfoy: long, pale, beautiful, and prone to blushing. The tip was almost red and it glistened with a single drop of pre-come. Harry nuzzled against it, feeling the smear of wetness on his cheek.

“You missed.” Malfoy deadpanned, tugging lightly at Harry’s hair again. Harry huffed a small laugh against Malfoy’s hip. The cheeky bastard was going to be the death of him, but the thought only made him giddier.

Harry pulled back and gave Malfoy a saucy smile. “Let me try again.” This time he took Malfoy’s cock in hand and swallowed as much as he could. The velvet heat felt right against his tongue, but he stopped when he felt the head hit his throat. He wanted to swallow Malfoy completely, but the risk of gagging kept him cautious and he put his hand to use instead.

Malfoy moaned and began swearing. He went through the usual curses as Harry bobbed his head on Malfoy’s cock and then moved on to ones that Harry didn’t know. Was ‘son of a cum-sucking hag’ even a real expression? Harry wasn’t in a position to ask.

Harry pulled back until only the tip was in his mouth and then laved at the head and underside before plunging back down again. Malfoy staggered and reached out for the wall. His thighs trembled under Harry’s hands and that alone would have made Harry hard if he weren’t already on the verge of coming in his pants.

He was taking Malfoy apart, making him moan, and curse, and tremble. 

If not for the charm on Harry’s jeans, his aching cock would have been crushed against the zipper. He dropped one hand to fumble with the opening of his jeans, desperate for pressure to reduce his torture.

Then Malfoy tugged again at Harry’s hair as he mumbled something incoherent and came down Harry’s throat. Harry sucked at him as he softened, marvelling at the way Malfoy barely kept his feet and shuffled closer to the wall. When he made a whine of protest, Harry released him to focus on his own needs. He pulled his jeans open and grabbed himself.

It felt so good to finally have pressure squeezing around him as he pumped his own shaft. He wouldn’t last long, and he just hoped he didn’t dirty the jeans before he bought them. He imagined Malfoy would have something to say about that. He ended up coming on the rug and promptly fumbled for his wand to clean the mess. He couldn’t risk being banned from his new favourite shop.

Malfoy had slid down the wall and was now sitting with his long legs—still tethered together by his pants and trousers—stretched out in front of him. His limp cock rested on his lap. He looked up at Harry with a lazy grin. “I take it you like the jeans, too?”

Harry laughed. Yesterday his clothing had made him feel ugly and alone, and today these clothes had gotten him much more than Malfoy’s attention. “Yes. Very much. I can’t wait to see what else you have.”

Malfoy’s head dropped back against the wall as he laughed. “I’m afraid we might have to move you into a dressing room. I have an assistant who comes in soon to help with the afternoon rush.”

Disappointment sunk into Harry’s skin and settled in his stomach. That was apparently the end of that. He looked up to find Malfoy looking him over carefully.

“You know, it might be a hassle having you stay for the rush. Big name celebrity like you might distract people from their shopping. How about I pick out some things I think you’ll like and bring them by yours this evening?”

The heavy disappointment evaporated as quickly as it had settled. Malfoy was going to come to his house and watch him undress. And dress, but then undress again. Harry’s mind offered lots of fun ideas for how to undress and what to do once naked. Maybe Malfoy could model an outfit or two. Just so Harry could see how they were meant to be worn, of course.

Harry tried to keep his voice casual as he agreed and gave his Floo address. By the time he offered to make dinner, he accepted that he had completely failed at playing it cool. 

Luckily, Malfoy didn’t seem to mind. He smiled as he led Harry to the Floo. “Keep the clothes you’re wearing. You finally look like an adult.” His brow lowered as he frowned. “I shouldn’t have Vanished your old clothes. I should have put them on trial for crimes against humanity and then _burned_ them.” His eyes narrowed even further. “Although I assume there are plenty more where those came from.”

Harry laughed, even as he made a mental note to hide his Weasley jumpers before Malfoy came over that evening. He had a feeling he would be hosting a bonfire for his wardrobe even though they were months off Guy Fawkes Night. 

He found he couldn’t be bothered to object. Maybe he should pick up some marshmallows for toasting.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are ♥ here or at [Live Journal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/317483.html)!


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